


Everything Happens For A Reason

by Erithacus (Esslyn)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26757493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esslyn/pseuds/Erithacus
Summary: No real plot, just some loose scenes describing a possible modern day friendship and history between these characters.
Relationships: Beric Dondarrion/Original Female Character(s), Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Thoros of Myr/Original Female Character
Kudos: 3





	Everything Happens For A Reason

**Author's Note:**

> I intended a stronger Sansa/Sandor focus but then more and more scenes just came to me featuring the other characters. So it goes. There's also much less of a true GoT influence in there than I would have liked. Bar the names and a few nods to the show I don't claim it's really in character. But it's written so it might as well be shared.

**EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON**

Sansa felt a sense of true peace settle over her as Arya switched off the car ignition. Home again. The overnight spa treat at a five star Clyde Valley hotel Arya had gifted her had been lovely and relaxing, but there was no truer rest than being in your own comfortable and familiar surroundings.  
Arya was already out of the car and extracting their bags. She had to leave that evening, flying from Glasgow airport to Dalaman, Turkey to join the British fencing squad for training.  
The clip-clop of hooves crossing the drive sounded behind her, Sandor was riding in on a black horse.  
Then her mind caught up with her eyes and she did a double take. No saddle. No bridle. Just a grip in the long mane. On Stranger - that was taking your life in your hands! She got out, shivered in the cool air and hurried up the path. The front door was closed but not bolted. She frowned, it wasn't like Sandor to neglect home security when he went out. It was his job after all. Sansa started to get an odd suspicion that something wasn't right  
Her thoughts immediately leapt to the Lannister family. It was only a few years since she'd escaped an abusive relationship with her then fiance, Joffrey. Shadows of the daily fear she'd lived with, betrothed to that mafia monster were still eager to prey on her mind.  
Sandor had been hired as her bodyguard but love had secretly blossomed between them. Then Joffrey had been murdered and they'd been forced to flee knowing their innocence would never be believed. Fortunately they'd been preparing to run anyway and they'd managed to leave the US and return to Sandor's native Scotland.  
Not long after they heard that Joffrey had been poisoned by Olenna Tyrell, the ambitious matriarch of a rival family. She'd confessed to the murder on her own deathbed. Since then they'd felt a certain safety and had begun to live less warily.  
Her intuition of wrongness turned into a certainty when she saw breakfast things still out, jam, butter, milk, half eaten toast and a half mug of tea, stone cold and with a skim on the surface. All yesterday's. She spotted a letter in the clutter on the table. Snatching it up she heard Arya call her from the study.  
The letter was from some lawyers, Baelish & Co. We regret to inform you that Mr Gregor Clegane has been killed while performing freelance defence duties in Syria, we are charged with carrying out Mr Clegane's last wishes. He left no will so all his assets pass to his surviving spouse. Please find enclosed a letter addressed to Mr Sandor Clegane together with a USB stick. Neither are on the table.  
She goes to Arya in the study - it is a mess. The computer monitor has been knocked over and smashed, books and papers strew the floor, the swivel chair's on its side. Sansa spies a USB stick still slotted in the PC, she pulls it out.  
-Arya can you entertain yourself for a few hours please? I think Sandor and I need to talk.  
Arya looks at her like 'no shit' but seeing the expression on Sansa's face, makes an effort and bites back the sarcasm.  
-Sure. I'll see you for dinner maybe.  
-Thanks. Sansa flashes her a smile then follows the path of destruction and debris out of the study, out of the back door and towards the stables.  
She can see Sandor, he has Stranger tied up now and a brush in his hand but where he should be vigorous, especially as she can see yellow sand caked all over the black horse, he is barely moving. She quickens her pace when he drops the brush and presses his head against the horse's tall shoulder.  
Sansa approaches warily, making sure her footsteps can be heard. It's not the horse she fears spooking, not any more, the big stallion has become her friend. Sandor rolls his head against the horse's flank to look at her. Close up he is a mess from head to toe, sand caked on his shoes, hair wild, trousers wet from the knee down. But it is his face which dismays her the most; tear-stained and desolate.  
She makes a small gesture so he'll see the yellow envelope and memory stick in her hand. For a moment his face bursts into fearful life.  
-You didn't play it did you? His voice is hoarser than usual, the question urgent. She shakes her head. He holds out his hand.  
-Please? She passes him the stuff and he pushes it roughly into a pocket, then forces himself to stop leaning on the horse and reaches out for her hand.  
-I'll tell you, I'd just rather you not see something you can't unsee. Sansa is not alarmed by this comment as she's already about as worried as she can be. He's not drunk, she notes subconsciously, but he looks worn out.  
He leads her out onto their back lawn. As soon as they cross the shadow line of the house he stops and tilts his head to the sun's hot rays as if they can wash him clean. She takes a step further so he's blocking the sun and she can look at him. Yesterday's clothes, she realises. Has he been out all night?  
He's looking at her now and reaches out to embrace her, pressing a kiss into her hair. She pulls him forward a half dozen paces so the shadow won't catch up with them soon and they sit side by side on the grass.  
-So Gregor's dead. She says softly, carefully not referring to him as 'your brother' or offering any condolence.  
-Aye. He picks up on her brevity   
-And you're right, it's nothing to be sorry about at all. He was pure fucking evil. The word's are flat, his energy for venom is exhausted for now. She's not too shocked, although there's probably more than the burns he'd inflicted behind this. Although Gregor ended up at a reform school, she knows he still spent holidays at home and that Sandor was often badly beaten up by his brother.  
-Gregor-. He pauses and needs a deep breath before he can get words out.  
-Gregor abused me. For a moment she feels cold all over despite the sun. She squeezes his hand but doesn't look at him, trying not to make this any more difficult. He speaks slowly.  
-He got off on violence. Liked to set one of the dogs on me every now and then to remind me how fucking untouchable he was. But beating me bloody aroused him sometimes, got him hard. He'd jack off over me or sometimes fuck me. But never her. She was too young to run away with me but I could only bear to stay as long as he never touched her. Eleanor. Finally he has said his sister's name. It's cost him though, a lot of hurt is being raked up afresh.  
-Your sister? She finally asks for confirmation. They've never really spoken about her. She knows Eleanor died when Sandor was about 16. Knows that Sandor believes his brother killed her and killed their father as well.  
At their wedding, as the night got late she met an old man deep into the whiskey who grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her down into the chair next to him. She'd been about to get up and growl at him when he pointed at her husband over with a group of his friends.  
-You love him don't you? He had the same soft Scottish accent as her husband.  
-Yes. She replied firmly, hoping to escape this strange old sot.  
-You make him happy. I can see that. Good. Poor boy deserves some joy after all he's been through. Now she was curious.  
-Who are you sir? He snorted and looked at her blearily.   
-I am no knight! Mrs Clegane, I am Duncan McGrath, I was gamekeeper on the Clegane estate while yon lad were a wee one. Not that he was wee for that long. Big lads the pair of 'em. He hiccuped and took another swallow.  
-Little Miss Eleanor would have grown up tall too I think. Such a shame. He swayed and she was astonished to see him brush a tear off with the back of his hand.   
-Eleanor? She prompted, trying not to sound like she didn't know in case he suddenly got shy.  
-Ah, their sister was a bonnie wee lass, bright and lively, always skipping. He smiled fondly at her memory.  
-Poor, poor girl. Sansa kept quiet.  
-I'll remember it till my dying day, when they told him his sister was dead. Oh it was horrible. No kindness in him - his father hadn't. Not a drop of pity in the bastard. I remember his cold words to the boy as they brought her body out. “She's dead. Eleanor has been murdered.” He didn't reach out to his son. Didn't stop him when he went over to the ambulance. He had to see Sandor did. The old man shivered.  
-The last time I heard the boy cry out like that was the day his brother held him to the fire. A horrible sound it was. Then he went back to his father. “You should have protected her!” He shouted, he forgot about the polis there. I remember walking closer as I was afraid he'd kill his dad, he was so angry. “You should have protected us! Gregor did this and you let him!” But I were watching the wrong one. His father slapped him as hard as he could I reckon. I saw the lad stagger back a few paces. I was standing by him then, ready to grab him in case he went for the old man but he didn't. He just laughed. A more chilling sound I never heard.  
-“You're next.” He told his father. “Gregor will do for you next.” The man shook his head sadly wiping more tears from his eyes.  
-He loved his sister, wept for her for days. I heard him out in the woods where he felt safe crying for his poor Eleanor. His best friend since they were little. He smiled a little though as a roar of Sandor's laughter reached them from the bar. He squeezed her hand again.  
-Congratulations missus. He's a good'un. He'll be good to you, but look after him. He said simply. Sansa smiled at him and impulsively leaned forward and gently hugged him.

A squeeze on her hand brought her back to the pain of the present. Sandor tapped the pocket where he'd shoved the letter and thumb-drive.  
-It's a video. Three minutes 34 seconds. His voice is near breaking and she is genuinely frightened. Sandor has been in the army and the police, he's seen terrible things. For something to affect him like this - it's bad.  
-Worst day of my life wasn't this. He gestures to the scarred right side of his face.  
-It was the day my sister died. Gregor did it. I always knew. A silent sob heaves in his chest. Now he breathes out the hardest words.  
-Gregor sent me the video he recorded of himself strangling her. He casts his eyes up to her even as he chokes up.  
-And then raping her dead body. She clutches him and holds him hard against her body as his shoulders shake and his tears run down her neck.

It is a long time before he runs out of fresh tears. This has hit him harder than anything she's ever seen in their marriage. He must have been utterly unprepared yesterday morning. From the sea smell on him she guesses he just slept on the beach wherever Stranger stopped. She hopes the horse kept him warm. He is shattered now.  
-Come inside. Let's get some food into you. I'll finish seeing to Stranger while you get some rest. I'll wake you for dinner and I'll take Arya to the airport after. He nods, too tired now to think.   
In the kitchen she says a silent 'thank you', Arya has cleaned up and she can hear noise in the study, she must be doing her best to right it. She sets a bowl of porridge with golden syrup in front of her sleepy man and waits to make sure he makes it to their bedroom before he crashes out.  
After she has brushed, fed and watered Stranger she sits down to some lunch with Arya and updates her on the news. While Arya finalises her packing, she checks her phone. An unexpected name has texted her. “DeMyr” it reads. “Mind if Beric and I pop in on you both tomorrow?” She doesn't even need to think about it. Without hesitation she responds. “Fine with me. I think Sandor could use a distraction at the moment.” “We'll be there. Thanks. T” She muses to herself on the timing.  
Thoros DeMyr and Beric Dondarrion served in the army with Sandor. He left after five years to go into law enforcement, close protection and finally self-employment. They stayed in longer. An odd pair of friends in some ways. Where Sandor was practical, watchful and blunt. Thoros was a dreamer. Married to a French painter she had trouble imaging him a soldier, but he was, and a good one. Sadly she knew that they'd had a daughter, Aline, who'd died after a short illness two years ago, aged just five, from a rare and aggressive cancer.

Sandor told her he'd visited Thoros and his wife Lucienne a week after their daughter's funeral. They were barely functioning. Lucienne; shell-shocked. Thoros making the effort to go through the motions - getting food and making sure they were at least presented with meals although neither of them had any appetite.  
Thoros coaxed Lucienne into the shower, into the garden, out for a walk but she barely spoke. He was beginning to feel as though he were a ghost. On compassionate leave from the army he barely did anything but was exhausted by evening.  
He'd thought that without the tiring routine of the hospital and emotional burden of hiding his despair from his dying little girl he'd have more energy at home. But even on the longest yomp he's never felt so drained.  
Gratefully he lets Sandor look after everything when he arrives, doesn't even make a polite pretence of normality - what's the point? They are hollowed out half-people in a twilight world of pure grief. This morning he wept at the sight of Aline's Winnie-the-pooh cup. Lucienne has put up a barrier to the world, but he is fragile - so fragile that everything cuts him to the bone.  
Later Sandor told Sansa about the 'meal of silence'. They ate dinner together, literally not a word was spoken. Sandor takes the dishes to the kitchen at a loss. He goes back to the table - they haven't moved. He sits and reaches across to them taking a hand from Thor and Lucienne in each giant paw and just holding them. It's comforting him even if it's doing fuck all for them! He's starting to need the reassurance at this point. He sits and sits offering nothing other than his presence and faith in them. He has a special rock solid patience at times like these that he can rarely touch the rest of his life.  
Thor finally moves, slowly like an old man, he reaches out and clasps his other hand on top, holding onto his lifeline. Lucienne though gently draws her hand away and leaves the room. Thoros tightens his grip and gathers all his remaining strength for words.  
-Help me brother, he whispers. The plea shakes Sandor to the marrow. He's seen Thoros in pain before, emotional and physical, but this is beyond pain and he's got no idea where to start. He gets up without loosening hands and sits where Lucienne was beside Thor.  
Once again he shoulders his friend's weight. No tears this time, Thoros just needs someone else's strength to lean on. He doesn't know what Lucienne needs but she will need Thoros so he'll fight the battle nearest him first. Thor just rests, permitting his mind empty. Sandor can feel his breathing deepen and wonders if he is asleep but no his hand is still in a firm grip.  
Before Thor does fall asleep Sandor helps him up and into the lounge. The sofa is huge and he reckons Thor might rest better alone for a night. He finds a blanket to cover him and waits to make sure he's not needed but Thor falls asleep almost immediately. Not surprising really, he put in so much energy, being strong for weeks, supporting Lucienne while their little Aline wasted away. He feels like skin and bone himself now. For a moment Sandor is angry. At himself, at Lucienne, at their lack of nearby family, at anyone who's not noticed how run down Thor has become.  
He rises early in the morning and silently checks on Thoros before making himself tea and breakfast as quietly as he knows how. Sits in the lounge watching Thor sleep. Thoros doesn't stir until late morning and he looks better for the prolonged rest. He's puzzled at waking up on his own sofa, then spies Sandor sitting there.  
-I've got a bed of my own you know? There is the faintest hint of his normal irreverent self and that gladdens Sandor's heart. It won't be easy but Thor is a fighter, a survivor.  
He makes food while Thor gets Lucienne up and they all go for a short walk. Before Thoros can tire, Sandor makes him call his counsellor and call their doctor for an appointment for Lucienne.  
Although he's never fully understood either one of them he has zero doubt that their marriage will survive. There is a part of Thoros that needs his wife's artistic nature and understands it and she fills the spaces in his mind better and more fully than any prayer he's ever come across. They'll make it. Thor is stubborn and utterly devoted to his wife.  
He's proud of Thor for asking for help, for seeing that this wall was too high for him and that he needed support. It's just one of many ways in which Sandor often feels he is the bravest man he knows.

Both he and Beric were at the hospital when their daughter's life support was switched off.  
Thoros had been holding her in his arms and kissed her for the final time.  
-Papa t'aime tellement. Tu vas toujour être dans mon coeur. He leant over the bed and gently laid her down. He pressed a kiss to Lucienne's head but let her take her own time. Sandor was waiting close by. Thoros stood outside the door trying to hold it together but tears were already tracing down his face.   
Sandor braced himself and held his friend tight as Thoros' knees gave way and he cried brokenly.  
-My little girl!  
Through the doorway, over Thor's heaving shoulder, he saw that Beric bravely went to sit with Lucienne as she stroked her little baby's cooling hand. It was a long time before Beric could help her up and take them home.

Thoros and Beric had a close bond and both were highly intelligent - she wouldn't be surprised if they were aware of Gregor's death. They might even have kept tabs on him to look out for Sandor. It was those kinds of things that they did that made them more like family than simply friends.  
Dondarrion was a handsome, weathered blonde. Blue-eyed and with bone structure a model might kill for. He wore an eye patch and his left arm was weak but his good humour rarely failed. His partner Emily was a slim, fey blonde with the air of listening to another world. It was a misleading impression as she had plenty of brains too, working as a child psychologist, specialising in virtual consultations and available 24/7 in an emergency for her clients. They'd known each other since their teens and were confidently expected to produce some stunning children.   
Thoros was taller and of slimmer build with with a hipster aesthetic. His hair was thinning and he had kind blue eyes and a bushy red beard. He was the more talkative of the two.  
She'd been nervous to first meet them - expecting tough men who'd have no time for a civilian in their world, and a woman at that, but it hadn't been like that.  
-Relax little bird. Sandor had said when he noticed her fretting.  
-You're my world now. I'm sure they're more nervous about meeting you. Just be yourself and relax. You can trust them.  
She'd still been anxious but they had charmed her rapidly. Sure they were tall, tautly-muscled and at first glance, intimidating. But within minutes it seemed, Dondarrion, “Beric,” he'd insisted, was out in the back garden working alongside Sandor, helping to dig out the root stump of an old hawthorn.  
She watched them through the kitchen window as she washed up. She was rooting in a cupboard for her chocolate chips when a soft knock on the breakfast bar got her attention. It was Thoros.  
-Mind if I keep you company while you're doing whatever you're doing?  
-Sure. I was going to bake some cookies and then maybe a cake. He brightened at the prospect.  
-Oh brill. If I can help with anything just say.  
-How about peeling some veg for dinner?  
-No problem. He patted the worktop, but got up from his stool.  
-Pile 'em up, I'll be back in a tick. Forgot something. She put out carrots, potatoes and a large bowl of water, newspaper to catch the peels and a chopping board and knife in case he felt like going the whole hog.  
He returned and deposited two wrapped bottles, a small packet and a bottle of red liquid. He gestured at the gifts.   
-From both of us, a bit of wine, hope you like Dornish red. Some saffron from my travels and a raspberry liqueur my wife Lucienne makes. If you like it there's plenty more.  
-Thank you Thoros, that's really kind.  
-Call me Thor. She laughed as he then pulled out his own vegetable peeler, laughed harder as he saw her expression.  
-I know, I know, I'm weird alright? I'm just fussy about my peelers, don't travel without it. And with that they were soon chatting companionably as they worked.  
”Heavy thunderstorms are expected overnight.”   
-Aaah crap. Thoros muttered. She looked over wondering if he'd cut himself, but it seemed to be a response to the radio weather report.  
-Sorry. He chuckled sheepishly.  
-You might be wondering why Beric and I asked to share a room if we could? We're not a couple.  
-Yeah I was curious.  
-I think Beric's been a bit low lately. That's why I made him come visit. I thought it would do him good to see some countryside and hear some new conversation. But being in a new place, after the long drive, it's only fair to warn you, loud thunder and lightning, it might be a recipe for nightmares. I hope not. But if you hear things in the night try not to worry I'll be there for him.  
-Oh okay. She was at a loss for what to say, didn't know them well enough to feel able to ask more. But he didn't seem to need or expect comment. As the cake baked they went out to watch the tree battle. Beric rewarded her with a huge grin as she offered him a cold drink and he set down his axe. His t-shirt was sticking to his body and he was covered in soil and bits of bark.  
-Bloody thing's dug in too well. Let me send in fresh troops. Thoros! Get your lily white skinny arms over here and give Clegane a hand will you? Thoros gave a mock salute and pretended to scowl at him - but she could see they were both enjoying themselves. Sandor happily relinquished his pick and Thoros set to uncomplainingly and with more power and stamina than his wiry frame suggested. Beric gave a huge yawn and swung his left arm in a circular stretch.   
-Does it hurt? Sansa asked.  
-Oh no more than the other one after that tug of war! How did I let him talk me into such a slog on a beautiful day like this? I think I'll take a quick shower if you'll excuse me, so we're not all drawing hot water at the same time. Those sweaty bettys can catch up later.  
-You're in the room opposite the stairs, bathroom's the next door to the right.  
-Ta, won't be long. And sauntered off with an easy loose-limbed gait.

Dinner, she recalled, passed in a warm blur and two lovely bottles of vintage red wine their guests had brought. After coffee they moved into the lounge where Beric and Sandor poured fingers of whiskey, Thoros opting for brandy. She headed for the kitchen with the desert dishes, intending to leave the men alone to talk, but to her surprise Beric followed her with the empty coffee cups and asked if he could pour her something.  
-Please feel very welcome to stay up and chat with us, we'd love your company, you're part of the brotherhood now! We're bound to talk a bit about old times and catch up on news of people we know but we also want to get to know you and your life. Plus it's always a pleasure to have fresh ears for our tired old jokes!  
She studied him quickly but she already knew it was the truth. If they were close friends of Sandor's it was impossible they would misuse courtesy and politeness to say things they didn't mean.  
-Alright Bailey's for me please, I'll bring ice. He nodded with a genuine smile and she stayed up with them. Yes they talked about names and places she didn't know, but one of the three always explained enough context that she could share their jokes. They also listened attentively and discussed her council work and its competing pressures.  
Thoros proudly showed them snaps of his wife's current painting exhibition. Sansa was actually most taken with his phone background, it was a vivid pink, yellow and red explosion on a red background so dark it was nearly black. It was like a flower exploding. Now she recognised the style.

Is that one of Lucienne's as well? She asked, as he was about to set his phone down.

-I didn't see it in the gallery.

-It is but that one's special. It's in a private collection. He winked at her. -Mine!

Finally Thoros prodded at Beric who was nearly asleep at his shoulder.  
-Passed your bedtime isn't it mate? Come on sleeping beauty, off to bed. As Beric said goodnight and plodded up the stairs, Thoros brought the remaining glasses into the kitchen. He cocked an ear to a distant noise.  
-Thunder confirmed Sandor. Thoros smiled wryly at him and shrugged like 'whatcha gonna do?'  
-Don't worry I'll be there, but you should explain the background to it all to Sansa if she doesn't already know. He thanked her for dinner and bid her goodnight with a squeeze of her arm like they were old friends. It felt like they already were. She looked to Sandor. He took the opportunity to embrace her while sketching a tale quietly in her ear.  
-We all have our history, you know that. Beric and Thor fought in Afghanistan. In '06 Beric was captured and held prisoner by the Taliban for nearly a month. He was tortured and he was alone. Sansa felt her mouth open in shock.  
-He got a medal from the Queen too. Didn't know you've been hosting a decorated soldier eh? The enemy camp where he was held ended up being bombed by some drones and he managed to escape from the ruins in the confusion. That's where he got his injuries.  
-Like all of us he has problems; PTSD, depression etc. Thoros knows the details and symptoms a bit better than I do - but I know that the sound of loud thunder can trigger nightmares or flashbacks. Not always by any means but I think Thoros brought him round because he must be going through a rough patch. So if you hear voices in the night, don't be scared. Thoros is calm, he'll tell Beric he's safe until he comes out of it.  
She held Sandor close, grateful that despite his childhood trauma and her experiences they rarely suffered from nightmares.  
She liked his friends. The thought of the considerate and laid back gentleman who'd patiently copied out the recipe for her cookies to surprise his girlfriend with, crying out in the dark of night, was heart-wrenching.  
But in the end, she remembered, they had all slept soundly through that night despite the downpour.  
She certainly looked forward to seeing the pair of them again soon.

Thoros and Beric arrived as promised the next day. Thoros seemed as ebullient as usual but Sansa thought Beric seemed a little distracted. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement to keep the conversation light and inconsequential as they enjoyed lunch outside under the shade of a parasol.  
But once they'd cleared up, Sandor wasted no more time and told Beric and Thoros that his brother had died. That he'd had a letter from his lawyer and finally all about the horrifying snuff clip Gregor had sent him. He didn't offer to play it. Beric reached for the yellow envelope and scanned Gregor's letter. Thoros looked truly shocked and swore.  
-That motherfucking cunt bastard. She'd never heard such a hard tone from him before and was glad Arya had left last night. There was danger in the air. If Gregor were here, she had no doubt Thoros would simply end him, his anger burned fiercely and for a minute he looked every inch a warrior. Beric though had gone very pale and turned away from them.  
-Sansa? He murmured.  
-Could I borrow you please? Without looking to see if she was following he'd set off towards the house. With a puzzled look at the others she followed him and caught up.  
-Sansa, love, can you do me a big favour please? Could you get me a glass of water, a big mug of tea and any biscuits you have lying around. I think I'm going to be sick. She is dismayed but nods.  
-Tea, water, biscuits. Sure  
-Thank you. It is a characteristic that Beric is always polite, even in extremis. He is often the butt of their affectionate teasing for his unfailing manners.  
She hears his slow, tread on the stairs as she pours water into the kettle - enough of all of them. She moves calmly, but her mind is racing. Beric looked really ill suddenly, she assumes it wasn't the food. But he couldn't have known Eleanor and they all must know Sandor's history and his brother's evil character given their closeness.  
She gets the biscuit tin and brews four mugs of tea, hears the toilet flush upstairs. Beric returns but doesn't even look at her as he goes out the back door. He has an A4 envelope in his hand and she notices sweat darkening the back of his shirt. Her stomach sinks. This looks bad.  
Beric holds out the envelope to the other men, his hand clearly shaking. Thoros takes it and from the window Sansa watches Beric take a few steps away into the warm sunshine. He sits heavily on the grass and immediately lowers his head between his knees. She grabs a few other bits and takes her tea tray out.  
Sandor and Thoros are pulling out papers from a thin khaki folder, photographs and a letter on yellow paper. Her mind jumps to the connection; can it be from Gregor Clegane beyond the grave as well?  
Thoros is looking at a photograph as she rests the heavy tray momentarily on the table. He has to use the hard surface to flatten it out as it has been crumpled into a ball at some point. She glimpses it in passing - it shows an empty room, a cell, with a wooden chair and a bucket. It's black and white but there are dark stains on the floor beneath the chair. She doesn't linger but leaves them a mug each.  
-Tea. She calls out, as they are too absorbed to look up.  
Beric can't take the water she offers him. His hands are clasped, no clenched, fingers white. She replaces the glass, reaches over for a throw she brought out and wraps it around him. She uses both hands to try to warm and relax his hands. His breathing seems fast and shallow to her. Fine hairs are stuck to his forehead. He is in shock or else he is fighting a flashback she thinks.  
Behind her she can hear Sandor and Thoros swearing. She talks to Beric - soothing nonsense about the cookies, the garden, anything. She is pleased when his hands unclench. He wipes the back of one over his face to rub off perspiration. He reaches for the glass and sips slowly. His hands are still shaking despite the warmth of the day and the blanket.  
She can feel his solid frame trembling under her arm. It seems surreal to be sitting here, trying to comfort this big, confident man but she knows now this is why he's here. He was sent some horror from the elder Clegane brother and must have surmised Sandor probably had too. But he waited! If Sandor hadn't shown them his yellow letter, would he have just kept quiet to spare them pain and worry? Because he'd clearly managed to conceal it from Thoros as well.  
Either way she knows well enough that he would do anything for them if they ever needed him and she will be there for him too.  
Boldly she takes a big gulp of his tea so it won't overflow in his unsteady grasp. She swaps the mug for the empty glass and offers him biscuits. The other two join them on the grass. Thor looks miserable; Sandor is furious.  
-You alright Beric? He shakes his head mutely; no.  
\- Oh mate we're all here for you. Sansa feels tears prickle as both Sandor and Thoros reach out for their troubled brother. Sansa and Sandor are flanking him closely, Sandor's hand on his shoulder, hers resting on his back. Thoros sits cross-legged in front, one hand grasping Beric's knee, holding his eyes, willing him to resist being dragged into the dark place.  
They talk. It's nonsense but grounding nonsense just the same as hers. A comforting ebb and flow of calm voices over him. Sandor has discretely hidden the poisonous envelope under the tea tray. The biscuits are soon gone.  
-Another cup guys? Beric lifts his head and meets her gaze.  
-No, that was just right, thank you. He's back. He still looks washed out but the crisis or whatever it was seems to have passed. She takes advantage and rises with the tea tray.  
-Don't open it Sansa. Beric's voice is soft but commanding. He's not even seemed to look but his eyes have missed nothing.  
-I'll tell you anything, but please don't see the pictures. An odd turn of phrase, but she nods.  
-I won't, I promise. It's exactly what Sandor was protecting her from - things she won't be able to unsee. Sandor rises with her and in the kitchen he tells her about Gregor's little gift for Beric.  
-I don't know how he got it. I don't even know if Beric's seen it before. It looks like his complete army medical report from after his escape from the Tali camp. And all the photos of his injuries and some photos of either his cell or more likely a close enough guesstimation, it was destroyed after all. Beric's full debrief is in there too. Details even we didn't know and plenty Beric'd probably managed to forget. Poor sod.  
Sansa imagines him opening it. All these envelopes have been designed to rip open old scars.  
-Let's all go for a walk on the beach.  
-Sounds good. He's thoughtful.  
-Lucienne, Thoros, Emily and you...for all we know he could have something in store to try to hurt all of you. We'd better make sure everyone's clear on the danger. Gifts from Gregor are best destroyed unopened I'd say.

Beric is more like his usual self by dinner, although they are all a bit quieter. Nobody seems much in the mood for conversation so Sansa finds a movie to fill the evening. The night is still and silent.  
But in the early hours they are awoken by raw panicked cries. Sandor hasn't heard Beric in anguish like this for a long time and never on a night without thunder. Another crime to lay at his brother's grave. The adrenalin spike helps him get up to offer what he can.  
-Can I do anything? Sansa is awake as well - although now it's gone quiet again.  
-Can you bring fresh sheets, a towel, maybe one of my t-shirts just in case. He'll be a sweaty mess.  
He enters the other room without knocking. Beric is sitting up, seemingly awake, but still in the grip of some terror. His eyes are wide, unseeing, his left arm clutched tightly to his torso. His stillness is unnerving. Sandor puts his hand on Thor's shoulder and he willingly moves aside. If Thor's soothing litany isn't helping yet, he'll do what he's best at, the direct route.  
He gathers Beric very slowly in his arms and waits for his body warmth to penetrate. He can feel the tense man in his arms is soaked through, but he can't smell urine which is a mercy. He gently starts to rock to and fro, trying to give a physical cue if Beric is in some kind of fugue. He'll have to be patient. Thor puts a hand on his shoulder and whispers to him to put Beric in his bed which is dry, after. He doesn't wait for acknowledgement.

Sansa wanders downstairs eventually since Sandor hasn't returned and sleep is eluding her. She finds Thoros at the kitchen table - head pillowed on his arms. His eyes are open though. He sits up wearily.  
-Hi Sansa, sorry you got woken. She shakes her head.  
-Don't be daft, it's no one's fault - don't apologise. I'm going to make some hot chocolate do you want some or anything else?  
-That would be lovely thanks. Thor sounds subdued, he must be tired and devastated that his friend is going through this hell yet again. She jumps as he interrupts the silence with a loud thump on the table.  
-It's that fucking evil dumpling Gregor's fault that's what it is! She tries not to laugh, it feels inappropriate but she can't help a little snort.  
-You alright? Thor is concerned, maybe it sounded like she was crying.  
-Evil dumpling?  
-I meant what I said. A moment later she hears quiet but real laughter from him. Then a big sigh. When she takes the mugs over he has found the envelope Gregor sent. He avoids the photos with a glance at her, but takes out the slim folder. “Medical Report: Lieutenant B Dondarrion.” Sansa gets up and moves to sit opposite so she can't read it.  
-He only said not the photos, you can read it if you want?  
-I don't feel right doing that - it's private. Thor nods.  
-You got a tablet or smartphone handy? Mine's upstairs. Look him up on Google or, er, I think the Telegraph article is reasonable. He returns to his perusal.  
Sansa gives in to curiosity, at least as far as public records. Google gives her a basic bio: born in Ireland but moved to England as a youngster. Parents Nieve and Steffan: school teacher and engineer. 1 younger sister. University degree, then officer training. 10 years in the army, honourable medical discharge following injuries sustained in Afghanistan. Currently doing an open university degree in Medieval Studies, owner and director of Flame Financial Holdings. She switches to the news article in the Telegraph.  
-Sansa? Sorry I want to look something up too, do you have another device I can use please? She reaches over for Sandor's iPad and unlocks it for him.  
-Ta. He gets up and helps himself to a pad of paper and a pen he's spotted.  
Sansa's engrossed “Lieutenant B Dondarrion awarded Conspicuous Gallantry Cross for bravery under enemy fire.” The story relates that his squad were discovered by an unexpectedly large force of Taliban soldiers and engaged. They retreated as best they could, fighting a running battle in the mountains.  
Guiding them to a narrow defile, Lieutenant Dondarrion took extra ammunition and then ordered his squad to continue their withdrawal without him. He successfully created a choke point on the enemy advance and spent an estimated 10 hours under continuous fire, single-handedly holding off the advancing forces until sunset. Long enough that his team's lead was enough to outrun the pursuit and reach safety without further casualties. Lieutenant Dondarrion could have had no expectation of surviving this rearguard action. The territory then remained in the possession of insurgents.  
Lieutenant Dondarrion was declared missing in action and presumed killed. However 29 days later, a badly injured man claiming to be Lieutenant Dondarrion requested help at a US roadside checkpoint.  
His identity was swiftly verified and he was taken to Camp Bastion. Lieutenant Dondarrion had been captured and tortured for nearly four weeks at a Taliban camp. He related that one night he heard many heavy explosions and realised the camp was under air attack. He expected to be killed but luckily, although he sustained life changing injuries in the barrage, he survived. Only to find himself buried in the flattened building.  
Despite a skull fracture, loss of sight in one eye and an arm broken in five places, Lieutenant Dondarrion managed to dig and drag himself free, evade Taliban search and rescue teams and navigate himself to a friendly army outpost.  
For the valiant rearguard action which certainly saved 30 soldier's lives, Lieutenant Dondarrion was today presented with his medal by Her Majesty the Queen at Buckingham Palace.”  
-Bloody hell! She muttered, not as under her breath as she intended.  
-Yes, literally. Thoros remarked, but it was a reflex quip. He was scrolling and scribbling intently.  
-What you doing?  
-Hah! Trying to become an instant expert in pharmacology and phlebotomy.  
-Drugs and blood. What are you a hippy vampire? He chuckled but then gestured her over.  
-Help me out will you? Listen and tell me if I'm going mad.  
-I can't read that Thor.  
-No. Look it's just this page, the first blood test results. There's nothing else okay? She scoots over trying to see what's got his interest.  
-So look. He points at a reading “5 milligrams opiamine”. I thought it looked familiar. Here: Dr Google says it's found in the blood of heroin addicts.  
-Riiiiight. She doesn't understand.  
-Well Beric's never bloody taken heroin, in Afghanistan or ever!  
-There must be other reasons for it to be there?  
-As far as I can research - it's only found after opiate use. She frowns, at sea here.  
-But he would have had drugs in his medical treatment surely? Painkillers, he might have had surgery and don't soldiers use morphine in the field? He replies matter-of-factly.  
-Actually no. Morphine's been out of army vogue for a while now. There's something newer. We didn't carry morphine in 'Stan.  
It's an absent, off-hand remark, but hits Sansa like a ton of bricks. She'd forgotten that Thoros was there as well. For a minute she's distracted as she suddenly puts two and two together. Thoros must have been one of those 30 men Beric saved! And then for nearly a month he must have thought his best friend died saving his life. Oblivious to her expression, he is still analysing.  
-I've been through the initial treatment notes and actually none of the original drugs used were opiates. She forces herself to listen.  
-So what was it from? How did it get there? Did the doctors make any mention of it?  
-I have a theory for the first two. A note says...he flips pages counting and she sees his handwritten notes have columns: page and paragraph references, he is unexpectedly organised and methodical for 3am.  
-Right here, Dr Cavell writes “the 5 milligrams opiamine must be a residue from US troop standard morphine syrette administered at the checkpoint when he was identified and given first aid.”  
-Ah.  
-No!  
-What?  
-It can't have been! Look I hung out with some US troops there. They'd switched from morphine syrettes to Fentanyl lollipops in the last year. And look at this. He switches to the iPad and a graph he has found in a paper on morphine absorption and systemic elimination.  
-So this plot's blood milligrams over time. Right now look here. Even if it had been a standard US morphine syrette. That's 25 milligrams. For his blood to have contained 5 milligrams in this test that would have had to have been administered at least 5 days earlier, but he was transferred to camp the same day he hit the US checkpoint! So he would have had a much higher reading. So that's two reasons it doesn't fit. She mulls it over - kicks her brain into gear.  
-Hang on let me think. She goes over his logic again while he gets up and paces.  
-Alright questions. First; let's remember the source of this report - the evil dumpling right? We need to check it's not actually fake or altered. He nods.  
-Good point.  
-Secondly; one graph and a few minutes of web research isn't going to be the whole picture. We need to eliminate every other possible source of that opiamine. He nods again, some of the wind coming out of his sails.  
-Thirdly; the blood test results could be wrong – it's just one small sample in a casualty field hospital not a laboratory. It could be a contaminant, a miss-calibration, a misprint even. Or maybe it was a syrette but just a partial dose? Thor sits down and looks at her, annoyed with everything.  
-Oh piss!  
-Tell me your theory anyway. He bites his lip.  
-I think I was spinning empty hope.  
-No! Come on at least tell me. What've you got to lose? At worst it's dumb, well okay fine we move on. But what if you're onto something? Come on just tell me! He chuckles at her enthusiasm, then becomes serious.  
-Alright my theory is that the Taliban dosed him with heroin or something very similar, either to knock him out or to try to get him into some state of altered awareness under which he might reveal tactical information. Or they could even have been trying to get him hooked so that he'd break when he became desperate for a fix. He doesn't pause for any dissent.  
-If that was the case then 5 milligrams could be the natural decay of a much larger dose much earlier which might also account for a lot of confusion and strange behaviour they've put down here. He points to the page.  
-As a symptom of concussion. And don't forget, fucking Afghanistan is a fucking poppy paradise!  
She processes this, realising that his swearing is just an expression of pent up anxiety. She hasn't missed his glances at the clock, he's worried about Beric. Sandor is still up there with him.  
-Do you want to go check on them? While I think - go set your mind at ease. Her logic pleases him and he stands up, stretches. He is still barefoot and wearing only sleepwear.  
-If you're cold Sandor's dressing gown is hanging behind our door - just grab it.  
-Ta. She goes through his 'workings' and sets to the task on her own iPad to try to verify any of it. Then she has another idea and starts typing rapidly.  
-Eeek! She jumps as Thoros soundlessly materialises by her elbow. He ignores her exclamation and looks at what she is doing.  
-Whatcha got?  
-How are they?  
-Oh I can hear talking, a dialogue. He clarifies.  
-So that's good. She's relieved. It's been an intense few days so she's ready for any crumb of positivity.  
-Okay so although there's a lot of other possibilities I don't think what you're thinking is out of the question either. I found some accounts from other prisoners of the Taliban who said they were given funny tasting milk and had loopy dreams. They weren't being tortured though. Maybe they used it to keep them docile and less likely to escape. Anyway-  
-Hang on! Hang on. He looks away trying to recall something.  
-I seem to remember Beric said once that nearly everyday he got a bowl of rice pudding, but sickly sweet. He ate it. Some days it would have been all he got. That honey or sugar could've been to hide the taste of something else couldn't it? She purses her lips thoughtfully.  
-It could. Why don't you see if he says that in the debrief you mentioned while I finish this up.  
-What are you doing?  
-I'll tell you in a mo. A few minutes later some scribbling and another page and paragraph reference tells her he found confirmation.  
-I'm going to grab an apple do you want anything?  
-Oh no I'm fine thanks. There's bread if you want toast or I can make something?  
-No this will do fine. He sits back chomping. She's not sure if that or his brain whirring is the louder. He starts a new page and jots down odd thoughts:

*How can he verify the medical report? Well he and Beric still have lots of in-service buddies, one of them might be able to help. Or they could always try a simple request, after all Beric should have a right to his own medical records.  
*Did they retain any of his blood samples? Unlikely but he makes a note to ask.  
*How reliable are field blood tests? He might need to quiz an army doctor he knows.  
*Research Afghan poppy compounds.

Sansa stops typing and turns. She smiles. Thoros has put down his pen and is finishing his apple with his eyes closed, head tilted back. Sansa realises she's genuinely fond of him, of all of them. Not only as Sandor's friends, but in her own right too. She's glad he trusted her to bounce these crazy ideas off, and they might not even be crazy. There is one big question she has to ask though.  
-Thor? He comes back to life.  
-Mmm?  
-What difference does it make? Even if you're right. All this happened, what, nearly three years ago? What difference does it make now? Thoros shrugs, looks away towards the stairs for a long moment.  
-He's had a lot of depression since. A while ago I'm sure he was suicidal. He had himself committed voluntarily to a psychiatric hospital. He did the right things - he got help. A lot of his symptoms, health issues, are a lot better but nights like this make that progress easy to forget. He doesn't sleep well at the best of times and poor sleep affects his mood, he loses appetite, his resilience wanes and negative thoughts get harder to fight. It's a constant battle to stay afloat.  
-It's not his fault, none of it. He knows that - we all know that. But when your girlfriend has to sleep in a separate room, when you wake up a whole household with a bad dream, when you have to remind yourself what normality is meant to feel like everyday - it wears you down.  
-I thought for a minute that maybe this could explain why it's still bad. If they'd thought of him initially as, effectively a drug addict - would they have treated him differently? I mean he's still on medication. Would it change anything? I don't know. But if nothing else - if it might even explain anything maybe it could ease his mind. Oh I don't know. She pats him on the arm.  
-Let's do it. It's just between us so if it comes to nothing well we're no worse off right? You get his original medical report and if it says the same thing, find an expert you trust to review all of it with your theory in mind. Meanwhile I have a friend I trust, Dr Sam Tarly specialises in natural medicine. He might be able to help us with poppies, opiates etcetera. Read this email and if it's okay I'll send it.  
She sets him reading. She's mentioned no names, no personal patient details but included a snap of the blood tests and a list of questions.  
-Actually we're going about this too broadly. She muses.  
-How do you mean?  
-Well it was the very first blood test right? So we don't need to worry about every possible drug that breaks down to opiamine. We just have to prove it couldn't have come from any other drugs he was actually given before the test was done.  
-You're right. Yes. You're right. He scribbles some more tasks down:  
*find out personnel at checkpoint  
*get first hand evidence if possible of treatment they remember  
*are there any US daily log notes on the incident?  
*what US and UK first aid drugs were in use in Afghanistan in 2006?  
*Confirm sequence: first aid at US checkpoint > 40 minute helo flight to Camp Bastion.  
*Any other medical intervention before blood test?  
They look at each other, suddenly exhausted.  
-Well, fingers crossed. Sansa nods.

Sandor is getting seriously worried and his voice is getting hoarse. It's been perhaps 15 minutes and Beric is still not responding at all. How does Thoros do it? In desperation he decides to try name and rank.  
-Lieutenant Dondarrion, you're safe, it's Sandor, you're at my house. To his amazement and relief after a couple of repetitions he feels the puppet in his arms begin to come to life. But Beric is now shaking hard, he sounds like he's choking. He gives a convulsive shudder and starts to gasp, desperately filling his lungs like it's the end of a footrace - sucking down air.  
Sandor continues to reassure him, feels Beric's hands fist and pull hard on the material at his back, clinging on for dear life. His forehead slumps to rest against Sandor's shoulder. He is still fighting for breath but it is slowly becoming easier.  
'That. Was. Bad.' Sandor thinks to himself - hugely relieved that they won't be needing to call an ambulance. But he's getting more of a sense for why Beric's depression is so severe and frequent. Beric groans softly.  
-Sand...Sandor?  
-Yeah it's me pal, I've got you. You just stay there as long as you fucking like. He hasn't stopped his gentle rocking motion and doesn't plan to. Beric has never been embarrassed about accepting physical contact. After a little while Sandor starts to listen intently, Beric is speaking, very softly, almost to himself. Haltingly but surprisingly cogently.  
-The bucket in that picture. When I saw it I could taste that filthy water again. It won't leave me. They held my head down in it and drowned me. He pushes weakly at Sandor, really trying to push the memory away but there's no give in these muscles and he resettles with his head resting flat on Sandor's shoulder. Sandor can feel the cold wet hair on the nape of his neck against his cheek.  
-First time was bad. Second time was so much worse. I knew what it would feel like. There's a moment when my lungs have to inhale, I have to breathe but I still know it's only dirty water and it's going to hurt. It's not fast, drowning. I remember the cold water heaving through my throat a few times before it all went black.  
Sandor can't help holding him tighter. He feels like crying. He knows this 'death' probably happened many times over.  
-This dream-state, fugue, whatever. That's what it feels like - that moment when I know I'm going to die, it's going to hurt and there's nothing I can do about it.  
After a while Sandor realises from slight tremors he can feel that Beric is weeping silently.  
-I can't. He whispers.  
-I can't bear it. Every time I close my eyes I'm so afraid. Sandor's heart is aching.  
-I don't know how much longer I can hold on. I sometimes wish you could all let me go. Sandor fights down every denial of what he is hearing. If he relived his face burning night after night, how long could he stay sane and keep going? He accepts. It shakes him to the soul but if he loves his brother in arms he must accept.  
-Beric if that's how you truly feel...He chokes off.  
-I won't make it harder for you, but please tell me if that's what you decide alright? Don't let me be afraid day after day, every time the phone rings of what I might hear. And please, please don't. Please just hold on - it will get better. It has to.  
-I promise. Thank you San. I just need someone to understand.  
Sandor just holds him helplessly. He can see now why whenever Beric visits, it's either with Emily or Thoros. Never alone. This pain alone would be unendurable for sure, he knows that much. Beric is nearly out now. He tries to lift his head.  
-San, can you help me?  
-Sure. Sandor gently strips his sodden t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, towels the sweat from his hair and body and redresses him in dry clothing. Then he simply lifts him over to the other bed. Beric is already asleep. Sandor covers him with the duvet, crosses back and strips the damp sheets off, dumping them on the floor and remakes the bed. He waits a beat but Beric is safely out for the count.  
Going downstairs he can see Sansa and Thoros doing something on the internet. He doesn't have the energy to get involved right now - he needs a moment alone and sits on the lounge sofa in the dark thinking - trying to get his head around the reality of what he has just heard. Emily, he keeps thinking, how is Emily going to cope? And Thoros and himself. It can't happen. It just can't.

Ten days later Beric, Thoros, Sansa, Sam Tarly and a Dr Habib are at Beric's house. It's a nice town house - secluded - with a beautiful rose garden. Sansa deliberately said she would come round when she knew Beric's girlfriend Emily would be out. Sandor is at work and Thor's wife Lucienne is at her gallery.  
As yet they know nothing of the fruits of Thor's dogged determination. Beric needs to hear this first. It feels odd not to have them all around - but Sansa and Thor agreed it wouldn't be fair to raise any hopes or give anyone else information before explaining it all to Beric.  
The five of them sit in a warm conservatory. Although he's at home, she can see Beric is uncomfortable as he's introduced to not one but two new doctors. Of course he must have had his fill of them. She'd tried to reassure him when she asked to come round with Thor and some friends. She told him they'd found something new in his medical records and that it might make a positive difference to his future.  
Thor didn't let the mystery linger and began explaining from the beginning. That night when Beric had a catatonic episode, the day of Gregor gifts, that he'd spent that night reading the report that Gregor sent and that this compound called opiamine caught his eye in Beric's first blood test readings. How he knew it was related to heroin which set him thinking. Beric give him a funny look at that which Sansa couldn't place.  
Thor is methodical, explaining that thanks to Beric's agreement and signature they obtained and compared his MOD medical records and found that the file from Gregor is actually complete and word for word identical.  
Then he explains, with help from Sam what opiamine is and what it can come from. He explains why they didn't go along with the original doctor's assessment. That the rate of decay precludes it. That neither UK nor US troops carried morphine derivatives for first aid.  
Thor has even tracked down one of the soldiers from the checkpoint. He recalls Beric he says. It's stuck in his mind because the Brit was so polite. “Yes please” he'd like water. Despite being in pain. And, he remembers the terrible eye injury. Thor read out his email:  
“I can confirm that although he was clearly in pain, we could see he'd suffered a head injury so we didn't administer any drugs in our first aid. We took him into the shade and helped him sip some water. We cleaned as much uninjured skin as we could, irrigated the injuries and applied sterile dressings. Luckily a heli had just left us and our Lieutenant was smart enough to call it straight back. As the patient's blood pressure was good and he didn't seem to be bleeding, they decided they didn't need to wait for a medical chopper. At some point he passed out but we loaded him, still unconscious, into the heli with a crew member assigned to keep him still, make sure he wasn't sick and keep him calm if he woke up.”  
Thor then explains the theory that occurred to him that night; that the reason for this opiate by-product in Beric's blood test later that same day can only be that the Taliban were feeding him some kind of poppy product. Dr Tarly explains he probably began to experience symptoms some withdrawal on the second day of the three days he was walking between the destroyed prison camp and safety, but that these would have been masked by his other injuries and not necessarily noticeable.  
Thor turns to Dr Habib. She's an emergency medicine doctor with experience treating torture injuries. Thor says he asked her to review Beric's whole treatment with this premise in mind. She agrees with Thoros. Lists all his initial symptoms and explains how consistent they are with high dose drug dependency.  
Beric looks a bit stunned as she explains that withdrawal wouldn't even start for 8 to 10 days due to the product's latency.  
She noted that no surgery was performed on his arm, that he was put under briefly while the bones were set, then he was set in traction for a week to keep the bones in alignment before being put in plaster. She knows that for the first few days it was expected to be painful and he'd been set up on a self-administered morphine drip system. Patient instruction is not to wait until the pain is bad but to use small doses as often as needed to keep it manageable and over time this ends up in a lower, safer, dosage.  
However the doctors noted in his file that he was dosing far higher than they expected but still within reasonable bounds. Dr Habib believes this is actually strong evidence that his body at this point is habituated to opiates, which is why he needs a notably higher dose than expected to get the same pain relief. Beric hasn't said a word during this lecture. He's taking it all in though. Every so often he makes eye contact with Thoros. Even Sansa can't read this unspoken communication.  
Dr Habib continues by saying that unfortunately the initial misdiagnosis has caused a cascade of problems. If they had treated him as an opiate dependent the drip would not have been morphine. They might still have used some to delay any withdrawal until it could be supervised and controlled, but it would have been in combination with non-opiate painkillers.  
Most of all, he would have been treated differently in terms of therapy. Instead of putting later confusion and erratic behaviour down as delayed shock, head trauma or a mental health issue they would have given specialised drug dependency counselling and a specific medical protocol.  
What he has been prescribed, including codeine for migraines has basically been keeping his body in a state of addiction ever since. Sansa feels a shiver down her spine at this. Then she starts talking about brain receptors but Sansa can tell it's too much and starting to go out the other ear. She suggests they take a break.  
Beric and Thor go out for fresh air. Sansa watches them, while catching up with Sam, and remembers Thor's snort of disgust at Sam's cautious email suggestion that they should, no offence, eliminate the possibility that the patient has lied to them and was actually a drug user. He acknowledges that drug abuse is an issue, even in a theatre of combat. But he shook his head vehemently at Sam's note, telling her, like a proud parent that Beric's “never even fucking smoked!”.  
When they kick off again Dr Habib stays less technical. She explains that the antidepressant and other medications he's on are reasonable given his current diagnosis. But if they accept that effectively what's happened is an involuntary addiction that's never been dealt with she proposes gradually stopping all his current medications and giving his body a chance to go through a full withdrawal.  
It's not without risk. He would have to undergo a fresh batch of blood tests and psychological tests, agree to her treatment plan and meet her regularly to be monitored. And, she warns, he could easily find some symptoms get worse before they get better. But she will write him new scripts for more suitable medications as and when needed.  
If all goes to plan though, she thinks he should feel better within six months and hopefully in a year's time, although she won't say that he'll ever be completely nightmare free, the frequency and severity should be much lower. Beric agrees to all this without hesitation and they make an appointment to begin an initial professional consultation.  
The two doctors tactfully excuse themselves and leave so Beric can reflect on it all privately. He, Thor and Sansa go and sit in the scented garden. After a relaxingly silent ten minutes, Sansa chances a question.  
-At the beginning there you gave Thor such a funny look. What was that for? Beric smiles. Sansa is a sharp one - she doesn't miss much he's learning.  
-Come here. He stands and pulls her into a big hug.  
-Thank you both so much. He packs a lot of emotion and gratitude into the words.  
-The funny look is because Thor recognised that compound, I assume, because a long, long time ago,before I knew him - he was a heroin addict. That's why I looked at him funny, it seemed so weird that he remembered that and that it had a positive consequence today.  
-What? The man himself is daydreaming. Tired of talking he waves a hand. So Beric narrates a little of Thor's history.  
-Thor told me his parents were rich, but not really interested in their offspring as more than accessories. And they packed him and his sister off to boarding school at the first opportunity. The poor kid became rebellious to get attention. Expelled from school, fell in with a bad crowd and bad habits. Lucky though; got arrested and he was smart enough to realise that his life wasn't taking a good direction and he completed treatment. Thor tunes in and interjects.  
-Yeah and then I joined the army to stay out of trouble! Sansa smiled fondly at him.  
-Everything happens for a reason.  
-What was that, sorry?  
-Oh I said everything happens for a reason.  
-Even Gregor.  
-Even the evil dumpling.  
-What?  
-Oh that's just something Thor came out with when he was swearing at Gregor.  
-I really hope this...Beric sounds vulnerable, can't finish his sentence.  
-Promise me you'll give it at least 12 months? She desperately needs to get his word now - terrified he might surrender to the darkness he'd related to Sandor.  
-Please Beric?  
-Of course. He reads her concern.  
-I promise. I'll give it at least that. Longer if it takes that to be sure if it's making a difference. Now her heart is as light as a feather.

They call Sandor and Lucienne to come over after work. Once Emily is back, surprised to find such an impromptu group, this time Sansa takes the floor and explains what's been going on. There is a stunned and excited hubbub for quite a while as they take it all in.  
After a while the group calm down and start debating where to eat out for dinner. Thor is about to ask their hosts for local knowledge, then realises he can't see them and looks around. Emily and Beric are pressed together a short distance away, half hidden by a rose bush. Eyes closed, they are kissing as if they haven't seen each other for months. With uncharacteristic tact he decides to leave them in peace a moment longer.  
Without looking he just knows that Sandor, sitting beside him, is drawing breath to shout something and swiftly reaches to plant a hand firmly over his mouth, hissing at his friend's astonished expression.  
-They've got a room! It's their fucking house! Sansa and Lucienne crack up. When they have calmed down, Lucienne waves a restaurant leaflet. In her melodic French accented English she offers it.  
-Afghan anyone? Emily and Beric break apart and look round, startled by the sound of loud jeering. A giggling Lucienne is soon being chased around the garden by Thor like a pair of naughty children. 

END


End file.
